


Cosmic Vanishing Trick

by pssychotropical



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: And Yukhei acts like an arsehole, Johnny is Mark's ex in this one, M/M, but before that happens there's a lot of arguing, which I hope he'll stop at some point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:47:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22225087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pssychotropical/pseuds/pssychotropical
Summary: Five years ago, Yukhei was the hottest guy on the biggest show on tv. Snap forward to now and he can't get a role worthy being the continuation of his grand career. Enter Mark, his new ambitious manager.
Relationships: Mark Lee/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 10
Kudos: 63





	Cosmic Vanishing Trick

"I'll be honest with you," Kun says, the moment Yukhei takes a sit in front of his desk. "I don't think you're really made for this role."

Yukhei has heard that phrase many times before.

It's always him coming to the audition room and always Kun who turns out to be the casting director. The guy's there every show Yukhei happens to audition for. At this point, they greet each other almost like good old friends. Right at the door, they exchange pleasantries and Kun asks how it's going. He compliments Yukhei's well-tailored suit and they pat each other on the backs. But when Yukhei starts performing, there's a significant shift in the atmosphere. Kun's nose scrunches. Then his eyes squint. And then one of his hands runs over his face before his mouth takes a deep breath in.

"No offence, man," Kun adds.

"None taken."

Yukhei's sitting in front of Kun's desk, his pose relaxed, right ankle resting against left knee, the tip of his shiny black shoe nodding up and down, up and down. Yukhei likes to think that he's practised looking cool for so long that he just can't ever look uncool. Even if he wanted to.

There's a pause. Technically, that could be the end of their conversation but it's Yukhei who's an actor so Kun can't seem to ask him to leave. At least not yet.

Yukhei takes his aviation shades off. He hangs them on the collar of his flowered shirt and goes, "What exactly do you mean when you say I'm not made for it?" Midway through the question, he realises that no matter how cool his pose makes him look, he's still feeling hurt on the inside.

Kun sighs.

There are two copies of the script lying on the desk. Kun picks up one of them and, willy-nilly, flips through the pages. "The guy's a widower addicted to vicodin and classical music. His heart longs for revenge on those who've killed his family and his detective mind is sharp as a tack." Then, he looks up. At Yukhei's face. "Do you see where I'm going with this?"

Yukhei mimics Kun's gesture and picks up his own copy of the script. One elbow lazily propped against the arm of the chair, face propped against two fingers, he flips through the pages. "Sounds like a cool guy to me."

Kun doesn't react. "Listen. Lucas." Then, a pause. It's a mistake everyone makes. He corrects himself. "Yukhei."

"Yeah?"

"What about sergeant Kang."

Yukhei tries to remember who that is, highly doubting his mind would have registered a side character. Finally, he goes, "The guy who leaves a sandwich at the crime scene and there's a joke about it at the end of the episode?"

"Exactly him."

"He's in two scenes. That's like five minutes total." Yukhei sends the script back onto the desk. It slaps against the surface and slides to the edge, almost falling to the carpeted floor.

Immediately after that, Kun stands up and picks a jug of coffee off the other desk. He gestures towards Yukhei to ask if he wants some and Yukhei doesn't. "This role I can get you right away," he promises. "In this very moment."

Yukhei feels his neck grow hot. And his eyebrows furrow. "You know that I want the main guy."

Kun sighs once again. With a spoon, he nervously stirs milk into his coffee, his bottom leaning against the desk, face away from Yukhei. His suit looks oversized and crumpled. "I know, Yukhei. We go through this every couple of months."

"So there's no chance?"

"So there was no chance?" Kunhang asks.

Kunhang's a screenwriter and Yukhei's already been denied the lead roles in a few tv shows he's co-written. It so happens, pure coincidence, that almost all of Yukhei's closest acquaintances work in the same business.

They are now in Yukhei's eight-bedroom, seven-bathroom, three-storey villa surrounded by a pool with a view off the cliff, which is what you get yourself after staring in the biggest television hit for four consecutive seasons, before your character gets killed off in a car crash, following a chase sequence with the ex-husband of your current lover, slash mafioso who killed your best friend, slash your biological father whom you didn't know you had for the three previous seasons.

Yukhei never liked that plot point.

"I'm beginning to think that the son of a bitch has something personally against me," he tells Kunhang, then gulps down the remaining half a bottle of beer in his hand.

In Yukhei's villa, there are glass walls but no paparazzi to try take pictures from the outside. There are pop art portraits of himself and golden awards with his name engraved at the bottom, all from five years ago as if that's when time stopped.

"It would seem so," Kunhang agrees, after a pause, the kind of words you say when you no longer remember what they are referring to.

Yukhei doesn't pay attention anyway.

His eyes are glued onto the tv screen that's stretching over the wall in front of the leather sofa which they're both sprawled across. Yukhei's face, ten times the normal size, is now occupying the entirety of the screen in an extreme close-up. He's sitting behind the wheel of a sports car whose brand you can immediately recognise, just like the brand of his suit. His eyebrows are furrowed, shades on the tip of his nose, both hands gripping onto the wheel so tight that his fingers go pale. There are even drops of sweat where his suntouched skin meets his perfectly stylised hair.

"I gotta talk to Johnny," Yukhei announces. "If this is what you call an agent, agent my buttcheeks."

And then it happens.

The camera cuts to the outside of the car. There's a booming noise, vision gets blurry. One last shot of Lucas' face quickly shows up on the screen and then the car begins to tumble off the road. It tumbles and tumbles, pieces of glass and metal shooting into the air. It hits a palm tree and immediately after bursts into flames.

Pause. Rewind. Back to the beginning of the scene where Lucas is still the hottest guy in the cast, who fucked all the female characters, even the episodic ones.

Yukhei puts the remote control down. "He's already late," he comments.

Picture goes over to the tv show villa which is almost the exact same villa they are sitting in right now, only in the show it was fake and Yukhei had it built for real, a perfect replica with every room the exact same size and filled with the exact same sets of furniture. Establishing shot, then the camera goes inside the living room where the black leather sofa stands in front of a tv, only the screen is smaller and there's a blond bimbo sitting on Lucas' lap and sucking his face, leaving red lipstick marks on his lips and chin. She puts her hand on Lucas' crotch and Kunhang goes, "So who's this woman?"

Yukhei is anxiously staring at his phone. "Ex-wife of my biological father," he explains, almost automatically. "She's cheated on me with that Japanese guy who got revived in the previous episode after committing suicide off the skyscraper bought by my mother."

Kunhang clears his throat. "The skyscraper bought with the ransom money?"

"Yeah." When Yukhei looks up from his phone, the blond bimbo on Lucas' lap is only wearing her lace lingerie. The rest of her clothes is lying on the floor, around Lucas' crocodile shoes. "She had great tits," Yukhei comments, as a way to remind Kunhang that yes, he had sex with the actress.

Johnny appears at the door the moment Kunhang's already leaving, making the whole scene seem as though Kunhang's shift has just ended and Johnny was only starting his own. They greet one another with a rather grim handshake, and when Johnny steps into the living room, Yukhei's figure is spread motionless over the entirety of the leather sofa while his exact copy named Lucas is still making out with the blond bimbo on the screen.

He reaches for the remote control and puts the show on pause before Yukhei has the time to protest. "Not gonna watch your sex scene again," he goes.

Yukhei gestures towards the beer bottles on top of the glass coffee table, asking if Johnny wants some and Johnny clearly doesn't.

"Listen," he starts. He's both Yukhei's agent and friend, as far as the co-worker friendships can go, and it's pretty clear when he's one or the other just by the tone of his voice. Yukhei's agent usually sounds pissed off. "The rockstar biopic? Not gonna happen. I've just had a phone call on the way here," he says, pissed off. He stops by the leather sofa and looks down at Yukhei with his arms crossed on his chest. "Your audition for the addict widower detective was basically an act of mercy. I begged Kun to watch you do that scene and you fucked it up yet again, for chrissake."

That's when Yukhei's expression changes. He frowns, collects his limbs and pulls his body into a sitting position. "Hey, this is not what my agent's supposed to tell me."

"About that." Johnny takes a sit on the leather sofa, where moments ago was lying Yukhei's head. Now both men are looking at the screen where the tv show has frozen at the frame of Lucas' lips sucking onto the blond bimbo's neck, Lucas' lips now the size of the coffee table. "I don't think this is exactly working out for you. Neither is it for me."

"What isn't working out?"

"Me being your agent." Johnny sighs loudly. His face looks a bit sagged, betraying the signs of a long day at work, something Yukhei himself isn't necessarily familiar with. Or maybe just no longer remembers what it feels like to be busy. "It's been five years since the season finale."

"It has been?"

"And I haven't fixed you a single role ever since." The expression on Johnny's face makes it clear that he takes it personally. A personal failure on his account. "For this reason, I have some news for you."

Yukhei picks another bottle of beer. "Shoot right away," he goes, opening it.

"I could sugarcoat it but I'd rather be honest this time around." He takes a look at Lucas on the screen, then at Yukhei by his side, then runs a hand over his face, in an uncomfortably similar fashion to Kun's. "Our company's got a few more clients and I'm too busy to babysit your ass twenty-four seven as usual." There's a pause and it feels like he's awaiting Yukhei's reaction, only none comes. Yukhei doesn't feel like acting out any emotion at all. "Here," Johnny says then and hands Yukhei a business card. "He's my current assistant and your new manager. He's got all the time in the world to watch you get drunk and mumble about the injustices of the world, and if anything of importance ever happens, he'll immediately contact me."

Unwillingly, Yukhei takes a look at the card, reading the name aloud. "Mark Lee."

"He's young. Ambitious. Very serious." Now having said that, Johnny seems way more relaxed. "Literally everything you need to get a role."

Johnny has always repeated to everyone in the company that getting Wong Yukhei a role in anything on tv was, quote unquote, pie in the sky unicorn fairy dust level of impossible.

They're in Johnny's office, Mark perched on the edge of Johnny's desk, arms crossed against his chest and half-closed eyes following every move of Johnny's swift hands. Not looking back at him, Johnny keeps talking. "An underwear ad is the best we can really count on at this point in his, quote unquote, career." He collects the documents into a pile which is soon supposed to find itself in Mark's hands. "I'm sure he's capable of getting naked and sitting still for more than ten minutes. That would suffice."

As Mark has long noticed, for Johnny everything seems impossible. Most impossible of all, treating Mark at least half as serious as his job. Mr Seo Johnny, the best agent you can find in town.

"It sounds like you don't like him much," Mark points out, his voice still cautious.

Johnny makes a dismissive gesture. "I like him as a friend," he confirms, handing all the papers to Mark. "But as a client, he's absolutely unbearable."

Mark takes a quick look at the first page of the pile of documents in his arms before asking, "And what made you think that he should be my first personal client?"

Another dismissive hand motion in the air. Mark frowns. "We kind of gave up on him," Johnny admits. He keeps reaching for folders, taking out printouts and mindlessly jotting things down while at the same time checking his phone every two seconds, the way he always is. Even this one conversation, right after their breakup, he can't give Mark his full attention. How could Mark not see it from the beginning. "He pays us, so sure, we work for him. But let's just say that this little bird is not gonna lay any golden eggs."

"So you're giving me your old failed project? Is that what this is?" Mark knows which words to use to hurt Johnny's ego the most.

Johnny stops all his movements at once. He stays frozen for a longer moment, thinking, then lifts one hand to his face and rubs the bridge of his nose. His hair looks freshly coiffured, his bottle green suit ironed and clean, smelling of the cologne Mark got him last Christmas, betraying the well-built body hidden underneath the fabric, and oh my god, Mark hates this asshole so bad every passing second only amplifies the feeling.

"Are you still angry at me?" Johnny asks, finally looking Mark full in the face. "I've told you not to bring your anger into my office."

"So now it's your office?" He drops the pile back onto Johnny's desk before pushing himself off of it and standing up. "All of a sudden, it's your flat, your car and your office. What a quick change."

"Mark." Johnny's voice turns into pleading as he walks around the desk, and the closer he finds himself to Mark, the quieter his pleas get. He casts an arched glance over Mark's shoulder, to the windows that overlook the common office area, and then goes, "We agreed not to talk about our personal stuff at work."

"You mean our no longer existing 'personal stuff'?"

They lasted for more than two years and yet at no point did Mark know what to call the thing that they had. Were they boyfriends? Or just co-workers casually messing around in Johnny's office? If he kept most of his belongings in Johnny's flat, slept there five days out of seven and commuted to work in Johnny's car almost every morning, did that make any difference?

"Mark." There's a noticeable change in Johnny's tone. Mark blinks his eyes, abruptly brought back to the office. "I'm sorry--"

He shakes his head. "Spare me." Picking up the pile of documents about another famous guy who has too much money but not enough will, Mark wonders how it all came down to this. Him being there. With Johnny. But also without. He clears his throat. "I'll come in the evening to take the rest of my things."

Last couple of months, Mark hasn't really spent much time in his own studio flat, and it feels strange to be back. Especially when carrying in two gym bags full of clothes, bathroom accessories and books, like he's returning from a long trip abroad.

At first, his mind inevitably drifts back to the weekends at Johnny's place. They would lay on the couch, drink mulled wine and watch tv where every couple of minutes Johnny would point at the screen and say, "This guy. I used to work with him." Mark found that endearing. Back in the days. Then Johnny fixed him a job at the company so they could spend more time together. Bullshit.

Arms crossed and bottom propped against the kitchen island, Mark looks at the folder of documents lying on the floor where he's negligently left it hours ago.

Everything he needs to know about his first personal client.

Weekends as well as work days Yukhei likes to spend in the type of clubs where B-list celebrities mix with non-celebrities because both kinds of customers recognise Yukhei from afar and seem easily impressed by his mere presence. He slowly drifts through the dancing crowd, a glass of martini in his hand and a designer shirt on his chest, two buttons undone. He searches for a face of someone interested in talking to him.

"Aren't you Lucas? That guy from _Young, Rich and Handsome_?"

It's been five years and strangers still call him Lucas.

This applies to any place and situation.

At clubs, in bars, while he's standing in a supermarket queue or taking a loan in a bank, wherever he goes and whatever he does, he always catches the stare of someone standing nearby about to ask the same question. Even his dentist addresses him as Lucas while fumbling in his mouth.

Sometimes it annoys him. Other times, it turns out to be very convenient. Let's just say that the empirical data has proven it's much easier to pick a guy in a club when he's drunk and has loved Lucas' character, back when the show was still being aired and the naked-chested Lucas figured on the cover of every glossy magazine in the kiosk.

So Yukhei goes, "That's me right here."

He pulls the corners of his lips into a wide smile showing two rows of perfectly white teeth, like there's a photographer in his head asking for more excitement.

The guy explains that he's an aspiring actor himself and has long admired Yukhei's acting in the show. "It's such a pity that you don't take any more roles," the guy says. He's introduced himself but Yukhei didn't catch the name over the loud music buzzing in his guts. He prefers keeping it anonymous anyway.

Late at night, ordering another glass of vodka, he becomes Lucas and the guys and chicks he meets on his way become one episode extras whose names the audience isn't expected to remember.

Now, the guy in front of him keeps talking about Lucas, one episode in particular which helped him discover his own sexuality and come out to his friends. Meanwhile Yukhei, half listening, scrutinises the guy's looks, checking all the requirements. Skinny, slightly shorter, of a petit stature overall. He's now started talking about an underwear photoshoot Yukhei did five years ago, when Yukhei leans in and starts kissing him on the mouth. The guy immediately shuts up. He lets Yukhei's big hands feel his blond hair, then his face, then grip his chin. They keep kissing for a few minutes, swaying to the club music in a way that allows Yukhei to grind their crotches together.

It usually goes this way.

Most of the times, Yukhei brings his one night stands home for a full night experience. They come in, admire the perfect replica of Lucas' house from the show and suck Yukhei's dick in the kitchen. They drink some more, drunkenly dancing to the music back from the club which is still stuck in their heads, and then Yukhei fucks them. Against the kitchen island, legs propped on Yukhei's shoulders for the best penetration, or while pressed against the glass walls so they can watch all the expensive villas that line down the hills.

This time, though, Yukhei opts to do it quick. In a bathroom stall.

Sucking onto the guy's neck and touching his dick through his trousers, he leads both of them through the dancing crowd and to the men's bathroom. They get into the closest stall and the next thing Yukhei knows, his phone is ringing in the back pocket of his jeans.

To the drunk guy who was about to suck his dick, he says, "Excuse me for a sec. Work related." Slightly losing his balance, he pushes the door open and walks a few steps away before pressing answer. It's an unknown number. "Yeah?"

"Wong Yukhei?" And an unknown voice. A man.

"Yeah. That's me."

"I'm your new manager," the unknown voice starts. "Mark Lee." There's a brief pause, during which the man on the other side of the phone call must be expecting some sort of reaction from Yukhei. But there comes none. To Yukhei's disappointment, the erection in his pants is slowly subsiding with every second spent on the pointless job talk. The man clears his throat. "I have a great new proposition."

"Yeah?"

"Johnny said that it's urgent to find you a new project," he explains, sounding very smart and serious indeed. Yukhei takes a few more steps away from the bathroom stall where he's left his dick-sucking fan. He watches the seven reflections of himself in the seven mirrors hanging over the basins. "The producers on Canal Three are creating a dance show and they are looking specifically for celebrities who haven't appeared on tv for a long time." Yukhei walks closer to one of the basins. He holds the phone between his shoulder and neck, and fixes a few strands of hair. "You know, the kind of show about forgotten celebrities doing something they aren't professional at, so the audience can see them as more human while struggling and overcoming obstacles."

"Did you just say 'forgotten celebrities'?"

"It's a great opportunity to clean your image and start anew," the voice continues, getting more confident. And accordingly, Yukhei gets more annoyed. His erection is now long gone, and from what he can hear behind his back, his dick-sucking fan has just vomited into the toilet bowl. "I've already negotiated semi finals. But if the ratings are good, you could win the whole show. What do you say?"

Yukhei props his both hands against the basin, leaning towards the mirror in which his eyes grow redder and around them appear wrinkles. "Mark," he starts. "Markie. Can I call you that?"

"Sure."

"Markie. The first rule of our work together is you don't call me in the evening when I'm almost getting laid. You get this?" He hangs up.

Each one of their next phone calls follows the exact same pattern.

Mark comes up with an initiative that requires only Yukhei's signature to become reality and Yukhei, his mockingly low voice coming from Mark's cell phone straight into Mark's brain, it says that no, he's not interested. Until one week later he stops picking Mark's phone calls altogether. And that's the reason Mark is now stepping out of his company car and walking up the gravel pathway to the door, noon sun hitting him in the face, multiplied by every metal column and glass wall of that stupid villa specifically designed to collect dust inside all the empty, forgotten bedrooms. Over the course of two years, Mark has seen enough of those.

He has to wait good few minutes until the door is finally opened. From behind of it emerges the man looking identical to his photos dated five years back, which Mark holds in his folder. Dressed in a flannel bathrobe, he has the body of a model and skin coloured extra hot, non-fat latte with five pumps of caramel, no foam. Damp hair pushed back, perfectly chiselled nose and jawline, and of course, big, pillowy lips as if recently stung by a bee.

Your typical celebrity look.

At some point, after you meet so many of them, they just stop leaving an impression on you.

One hand propped against the door frame, Wong Yukhei leans forward and squints. It's a momentary sensation but Mark registers it nevertheless; the guy is checking him out. His curious eyes flicker up and down Mark's figure before eventually returning to Mark's face.

"And you are?" he asks, the kind of voice that betrays the profession. Mark has already talked to enough actors to recognise one. Whatever they say sounds like it comes straight out of a script. Slow and steady so that the audience can catch every word.

"Mark Lee."

"I feel like I've heard that name before." A frown creases the man's forehead. His eyes keep studying Mark's face, and here comes the awkward realisation that he has no idea who Mark is. Awkward to Mark. The guy doesn't seem to know what awkwardness even is. "Where did we meet?"

Mark clears his throat. "I'm that manager whose phone calls you've been ignoring for the whole last week."

The smile that proceeds to curve Wong Yukhei's rosy, bee-stung lips, Mark already knows it from the tv show posters he's found among the documents; two rows of perfectly white teeth and the audience goes oh as he appears on the screen to steal the female protagonist's heart. At least that's what Mark's guessing. He's actually never seen the one hit show the guy's starred in.

"Markie. Right." Wong Yukhei takes a look at the designer watch on his wrist. "Did we have some meeting planned for today?" he asks.

"We would have planned it if you deigned to use your phone." Yukhei's face slowly moves away from Mark's. "What about my emails. Have you received them?"

"I may have."

"But you haven't replied." Mark makes a sharp move with his hand, motioning towards the entrance. "Can I come in? This should take a moment."

Silent, Yukhei steps away, watching Mark pass him by.

The hall is directly connected to the open kitchen and a sunken living room, and it's all absolutely empty, except for the row of paintings and posters on the walls, all presenting the exact same face of Wong Yukhei. That's all Mark needs to know.

"I've given you more than ten projects." Mark's accusatory voice cuts through the silence.

"Well." There's a sound of the door being closed behind Mark's back, then hurried steps of Yukhei's bare feet against the wooden floorboards. On the right side of the hall, the wall is covered by a huge mirror, now reflecting their two silhouettes, Yukhei's speeding up behind Mark's. "I didn't reply because none of them interests me."

Yukhei in the mirror has defensively crossed his arms against his chest.

Mark goes, "It's not about finding you a fun hobby for the weekends. We're talking about your job." He comes up to the kitchen island and proceeds to take a few documents out of the leather bag hanging off his shoulder. On the kitchen island, there is a bowl of cereal and an empty glass next to a bottle of whisky. Mark doesn't comment. He hands his client a few pages stapled together and watches for his reaction.

As he's reading, not that attentively, really, Wong Yukhei's expression goes sour. "I'm not going to act in a music video of a band whose name I don't even recognise."

"You just hold a girl's hands in one scene, lay with her in bedsheets in the other," Mark enumerates, folding his fingers. "You sit at a table looking into her eyes and then cry when she breaks up with you as the snow is falling outside of a restaurant."

"Okay, let me rephrase that. I'm not going to play a guy who gets dumped in a music video of a stupid band whose name I don't even recognise."

Mark's face darkens. The corners of his lips officially tug down and for a longer moment, the two of them stare at one another in silence.

"What is wrong with you?" Mark finally asks.

Yukhei doesn't seem to like his tone. "Maybe if you didn't bother my ass with useless shit like this--"

"You haven't had a role for the past five years. With the influx of new, young and handsome actors, it's a miracle that they even thought about you."

Yukhei's thick eyebrows arch, like it's the scene in a film where the protagonist can't believe someone has just revealed the hurtful truth about him.

"I don't know what Johnny told you--"

"You just have to sign it."

"--but you are not him and you are not going to speak to me like this."

Mark takes a deep breath, turning his head to a side as he rolls his eyes. First Johnny, now this guy. Things just don't go the way Mark wishes they would.

The inflated ego resonates in Wong Yukhei's voice as he keeps talking. "If you're looking for a role that I'm supposed to play, it has to be grand. If it isn't grand, don't call me and don't email me because I am not interested."

Back in the office, Johnny gives Mark a look which says, "I know what it feels like."

Mark sits down at his desk and takes a deep breath in. There are documents piling up, unanswered phone calls and a list of meetings he was supposed to organise for Johnny earlier but didn't manage due to the tv dumbarse urgency. His morning coffee remains untouched, cold in his mug.

"You're doing god's work," Johnny comments. It's likely an attempt to prevent the awkward silence that now accompanies him and Mark every time they are left alone in the office, and Mark hates it.

Looking at Johnny, he doesn't know if the words are meant to be ironic or not. He doesn't respond. His new policy is speaking to Johnny as rarely as possible, which is quite an inconvenience considering the fact that he's still Mark's superior, even when he's no longer his boyfriend. Quote unquote.

"I've heard you didn't get the role in the biopic," is the first thing Kunhang says as he shows up at Yukhei's, same time as usual. It's their late afternoons reserved specifically for drinking alcohol and watching Yukhei's show. He pauses, looks at Yukhei, then adds, "Nor in the medical drama."

Contrary to what he might have expected, Yukhei doesn't seem to be particularly bothered. Seem is the key word. Hands in the front pockets of his jeans and a casual t-shirt on his chest, he walks down the corridor and towards the cabinet where he stores all the alcohol. Mostly expensive bottles of old wine. "Yes and yes," he says.

Then, there's a pause. He crouches in front of the cabinet and proceeds to choose a bottle, and in the meantime, Kunhang walks down the steps to the sunken living room where he sits on the edge of the sofa. There's something weird about Yukhei's blank expression and about how he hasn't yet complained about anything since Kunhang has stepped inside the villa.

"So..." Kunhang starts anew. "Nothing new happened in the meantime that you want to talk to me about?"

With his back to Kunhang, Yukhei shrugs. He picks a bottle of scotch, stands up and carries it to the kitchen area. Familiar sequence of moves. Rinse and repeat. He takes two glasses out of the dishwasher and proceeds to pour the alcohol in. All of that while seemingly completely uninterested. The key word is seemingly. Truth be told, Kunhang has never found Yukhei to be a particularly good actor. Especially when it came to concealing his true emotions.

"We're just going to watch your old tv show? Like we usually do?"

"And drink. Like we usually do." Then, another pause. Yukhei's blank expression breaks into a wince. His eyebrows finally move down his forehead and he turns towards Kunhang. When he speaks up, annoyance seeps into his voice. "What's up with you all? Suddenly, it's an old show and it's been five years since I stared in it and oh my god, Yukhei, go get a job. Is that what you were going to say too?"

Surprised but not too much, Kunhang takes a moment to think. "I wanted to say that you seem a bit... off. Is everything alright?"

Yukhei takes both glasses and carries them down to the sunken living room. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"No reason." He takes one glass from Yukhei. "Can I ask you then who's the guy I met here yesterday?"

Sitting down, Yukhei pauses. An expression passes over his face, like he's trying to remember the events of the previous day but eventually fails. "What guy?"

"He was leaving when I came over. You know. Cute. Black hair..." He trails off, expecting a reaction.

Yukhei thinks, then opts for the safe answer. "Most likely, a stranger I met in a club and took home to have wild sex with. Why asking?"

Kunhang sighs. "I was hoping you would say something else."

Yukhei takes a mouthful of scotch. "Something like what?"

"Like that you met someone? And maybe that... you're seeing him and it's serious?"

What follows is a loud snigger, and Yukhei's facial expression alone proves to Kunhang that no, none of that could have happened.

The remote control that Yukhei has just picked up from the coffee table, now he puts it back down. He folds one arm around the back of the sofa and looks Kunhang full in the face, suspiciously. "What you mean is, you wish I met someone so that you wouldn't have to come over and watch _Young, Rich and Handsome_ on dvd like we always do?"

Kunhang's response is instant. "No. I was just thinking that dating someone, like, dating them seriously as oppose to your usually one night stands, could help you prepare for the roles you keep auditioning for."

Yukhei frowns. "So what you mean is, my acting isn't good enough and that's why I don't get the roles I keep auditioning for?"

"Not exactly what I meant."

Yukhei's voice, previously just irritated, now grows really annoyed, the mounting anger and a weird kind of tiredness sizzling in his throat. "First Johnny, now you. If you hate binge-watching my tv series this much, just say so." But before Kunhang gets to respond, there comes the sound of the front door buzzer. "Fuck." Suddenly, Yukhei puts his glass down, next to the remote control, and rubs his face with both hands.

Kunhang swivels his head towards the door. "Who's that?"

"My new manager. He keeps coming here and annoying the fuck out of me."

"A new manager?"

"You know, Johnny's got _so_ busy nowadays, he gave me this guy instead."

The buzzer rings again. Kunhang looks at Yukhei expectantly. "So are you going to open?"

And only as he says so does Yukhei stand up. The way he walks towards the door makes it clear that it's the last thing on the planet that he wants to do right now.

Pause. From offscreen, Kunhang hears a rapid exchange of hushed words spit out in anger. An insert shot of Kunhang's glass of scotch. He takes a swallow.

As soon as the door opens, Mark steps right in, almost pushing Yukhei with his shoulder and not even bothering to ask if it's a good time for a visit.

"Are you kidding me?" is what Yukhei hears instead.

He shuts the door the with a bang, quickly turning towards the man. "What is it now?

"Yesterday morning I told you about the audition. And then I called you three times to make sure you would remember." Mark's standing with his arms crossed, steeling himself for the inevitable confrontation. Anger sharpens his features and as he keeps ranting, more colour comes into his hollowed cheeks, forcing a thought to cross Yukhei's mind that the guy has quite a nice body. Especially when tense. "And you didn't show up." His big eyes shine with reproof as he pins Yukhei down with his stare.

Yukhei lifts his both hands, like it's a surrender pose. "I said that I would just so you could finally get off my arse."

Eyebrows shoot up Mark's forehead. "You're unbelievable."

"Thanks."

"It's not a compliment."

He fishes the documents out of his leather bag and while waving them in his air, proceeds to storm into the living room area. Yukhei follows right behind, eyes on the man's arse in those tight blue jeans. Somehow, he's always wearing tight jeans.

"That's the guy I was talking about," turns out to be the last thing Kunhang says before realising it's high time to go and giving a lame excuse.

Yukhei isn't sure if he should be thankful, because even though it means that he's no longer being insulted by his manager in front of his friend, it also means that, well, he's left alone with him. With this yelling little shit.

"You lied to me about the audition," the yelling continues, and Yukhei has to admit that he's slowly beginning to feel like he's going to lose this one. The anger keeps growing in Mark with every passing second, the tension in the air seems to be on the verge of popping and Yukhei doesn't think he was ready for it all. "Are you five years old? What grown-up man acts like this?"

Yukhei blinks his eyes at the sudden mention of his age, like it's the first hit below the belt. He frowns. "Now you think you're so smart because you've read my birth date in some stupid documents?"

Speaking of documents, Mark furiously throws the most recent contract onto the kitchen island, his eyes not escaping Yukhei's face even for a second, pinning him down, right to the spot where he's standing just a few steps away from Mark. He has a strong eye contact. Yukhei's practised that too, for his tv role. "I have everything in those documents."

"And so you think you know everything about me?"

Yukhei makes a step forward; Mark doesn't budge.

"I know enough to confidently say that you're a huge self-centered dick whose debt is growing every day and yet he doesn't deign going to work like a rational human being would."

And this blow Yukhei didn't expect.

How the fuck does he know that.

There is a longer pause during which neither of them says a word and only then, Yukhei produces an angry, shocked laugh, low in his throat. "Did Johnny tell you that too?"

"Forget Johnny. _I_ am your goddamned manager now. And it's all in those 'stupid documents'." Mark lifts his one hand and rubs the bridge of his nose, both eyes closed. He takes a deep breath before his voice goes a few decibels lower, like he's trying to calm himself down. "This is not the best time in my life to be dealing with this shit," he says, more to himself than to Yukhei.

Yukhei takes another step forward and the contours of Mark's silhouette grow more distinct, sharper, as if emerging from behind a thick fog. The rush of adrenaline has Yukhei's whole body feeling unbearable hot. His emotions well up, thoughts spin out of their usual tracks, and somehow one of them is about how provocative this little mole looks on Mark's reddened skin. "And who said this is the best time in _my_ life to be dealing with _you_?"

"With me?" Mark's eyes are now the biggest Yukhei has ever seen them, so big that his own face reflects in both of the widened pupils. As Mark's keeps speaking, the tendons on his neck bulge. "Every day I call people and make an idiot out of myself so that they at least take into consideration giving you a job, and you sit there and complain." He pauses but Yukhei doesn't even think about responding. "Wong Yukhei. Your tv show fortune is melting as we speak."

And this is the last thing Yukhei allows him to say before going on autopilot.

Blood chugging through his veins and head spinning, Yukhei surges forward.

His first intention is to punch the guy in the face, of course, but he ends up pulling at Mark's collar instead, then grabbing Mark's chin and finally, thrusting his tongue into Mark's open mouth. Which possibly prevents the man from spewing out more insults. Without much thinking, he pushes Mark to the kitchen island and presses his whole body onto Mark's, easily trapping the man between his two arms. Mark makes a last-ditch effort to oppose. He tries to wrench himself away and for that purpose slaps Yukhei on the face, but somehow midway through the slap, just when Yukhei's cheek stings like hell, he flings his arms around Yukhei's neck and pulls him closer.

At first, the kiss feels like a physical continuation of their unresolved argument, neither of them willing to let go of control.

Mark's fingers stray up Yukhei's head before scraping at his scalp and grabbing tufts of his hair, easily making Yukhei groan in response. He shifts a knee between Yukhei's legs and presses it against his evident bulge until Yukhei feels forced to lift him off the ground and sit him up on the island. And as soon as that happens, Mark quickly arranges a new position. He wraps his legs around Yukhei's hips and for the first time brings their clothed erections together, just when Yukhei expects it the least, grinding them to the rhythm of their sloppy kisses, full of teeth and tongue and with no cooperation whatsoever.

"God, you're so fucking annoying," Yukhei mumbles.

He takes a swallow of air and Mark uses the opportunity to bite onto Yukhei's obscenely thick lower lip, like it's been asking for it. "So do a better job," he replies, defiantly even though his voice comes out weak and breathless, and oh god, the words make Yukhei's cock twitch.

Hastily, he unbuckles Mark's belt and fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, throwing every piece of clothing to the floor without caring much about where it lands. Next come off Mark's tight blue jeans, angrily drawn down Mark's firm thighs, skinny legs, together with his underwear and socks. Mark is now lying flat on the kitchen island. His eyes are closed and hands holding onto the edges of the counter as he finally lets Yukhei take the lead, which wordless act of surrender gets Yukhei dizzy in the head.

He runs his palms down Mark's thighs, feeling every muscle tense under his touch, then reaches up to Mark's cock, where beads of precome are already collecting at the slit. He smears it all down Mark's length and gives it a few experimental pumps, each of them earning a loud moan out of Mark's mouth.

The next thing he knows, they're already doing it. Mark's tight and responsive, just the way Yukhei likes his lovers, and when he comes, spilling all over Yukhei's sweaty chest, his head is in the crook of Yukhei's shoulder and he cries Yukhei's full name, for the first time not making it sound like an insult.

Cut to the next scene where Mark's lying naked on Yukhei's leather sofa, pouring more scotch into Kunhang's glass, his breathing still shallow but the expression on his face no longer furious. He takes a sip and then motions with the bottle to ask if Yukhei wants some too.

"Do you always get off on being called a dick?" he asks, handing Yukhei his glass.

It might be a joke, Yukhei isn't sure, never before witnessing Mark express any emotion other than irritation, and so, just in case, he releases a ragged laugh. He's sitting on the carpet, his back against the sofa, mind still muddled with with the recent orgasm. "I guess you're a special case."

Taking another sip of scotch, Mark looks down at him with a vacant stare.

Now that the sex has exhausted both of them and forced to settle down with two glasses of scotch, Yukhei can openly study Mark's naked body sprawled in front of him, taking in all the details which he couldn't have paid attention to while fucking the man against the kitchen island.

The thought of what what they've just done sends another rush of adrenaline through Yukhei's body, which he quickly puts out.

"So," he goes, "what did you mean by 'not the best time in your life'?"

Mark shrugs, noncommittal. "Recently broke up with a boyfriend," he decides to reveal, like it doesn't really matter if Yukhei knows or not.

"Oh."

"A bit of alcohol should do me good."

Yukhei doesn't reply immediately. Part of him is expecting Mark to continue speaking and add onto the story, but nothing of that kind happens, and feeling weirdly uncomfortable with the prolonged silence, Yukhei goes, "You know. Sometimes you just need to forget about everything and have sex with a stranger."

Mark smiles. "I'm sure you know something about this."

When they meet at the next audition, Kun's still wearing the the same oversized, crumpled suit, but unlike usually, he asks Yukhei to sit at his desk immediately after shaking his hand at the door and complimenting his looks.

Legs crossed at the knee and leather shoe nodding up and down, giving him the air of a relaxed man, Yukhei says, "I feel like we've skipped something today."

Kun throws him a sharp glance. In his two hands, he's holding his own copy of today's script. He shakes with it. "Have you read this?"

Yukhei responds that of course he has. He's an actor. Reading scripts and preparing for the roles is what he does for a living.

Kun runs a hand over his face. "It's a psychological drama about a faded actor who hasn't been given a role in years and now goes through a spiritual and mental crisis, re-evaluating his life choices and all the shallow, sex-oriented relationships he's been in."

Yukhei nods his head, unbothered.

So Kun continues, "Trapped in his seemingly perfect life, he wonders how much of his true self is still left underneath all the roles that he's played in the past which gradually distorted the boundaries between cinema and reality." Pause. "Is this the role you're auditioning for?"

"So you're not going to record me act out that scene?"

Kun sighs. "The one where he has an epiphany while crashing a bottle of whisky against his portrait that's reminiscent of Narcissus falling in love with his own reflection in the lake?" He puts the script down. "No, Yukhei. I've been specifically asked not to. The director doesn't think you're really made for this role."

**Author's Note:**

> Not one fibre in my body wanted to write my uni papers, so I wrote this instead. Wish me good luck with the second chapter.


End file.
